


Off and On - Rollercoaster & Frustration

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [6]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Break Up, Fingering, M/M, Make Up, Mating Season, Mod Frog expectations, Sex in a Car, Sexual Frustration, Wow, a frank conversation, an actual real date???, controlled sexual partners, fear of fireworks, fear of intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Here's the next instalment of Off and On, our series of break-ups/make-ups between Harris and Jamack.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Off and On - Rollercoaster & Frustration

_Rollercoaster_

Jamack led Harris through the city, not too far from Newton Wolves territory. He was acting especially excited, and secretive. They had left Kwat with the car. Jamack had traded a few favours to her so she would continue the patrol without them.

Harris followed nervously. Jamack seemed to know where they were going. Jamack hadn’t let him bring his bat, and he hated being anywhere unfamiliar without it. Well, _anywhere_ without it.

Jamack pushed open a door in the large wall they had been following the outside of for a few minutes. Inside, he handed a package to a Rat who was lazily leaning over the counter of a small booth.

“Enjoy your time at Ratland,” he intoned, handing Jamack a roll of paper tickets.

_Ratland?_ Harris grimaced. Why had Jamack brought him here, where they’d be surrounded by nasty mammals? Why couldn’t they have just taken the car to their garage the way they usually did? Mammals made his skin crawl. Especially since Jamack had admitted to taking ‘driving lessons’ from a Rat. Was that how Jamack had found this place? Ah. That must be it. “I really don’t need to learn to drive,” he muttered. “You like doing that, remember?” Harris’ wide field of view actually made it slightly more difficult for him to drive—it was difficult to concentrate only on what was immediately in front of him. Even with training, he doubted he’d be able to pull off half the maneuvers Jamack performed so casually and effortlessly. That—and Jamack’s strange affinity for dragonflies—gave him an edge Harris didn’t have. As with most things.

“This isn’t about that,” Jamack chuckled. He took Harris’ hand for a brief squeeze. This place was strange, like another world, somewhere mutes didn’t fight tooth and nail over scraps. It made him feel more comfortable to be openly with Harris. He knew it was still really just a fantasy, they weren’t particularly safe anywhere, but it was a nice fantasy.

“There are rides, and food. We’re here to have fun.” Harris wasn’t particularly good at having fun, or relaxing. Jamack thought he needed a little more of both in his life.

Harris had a brief moment of panic when Jamack touched him—what if somebody saw? Jamack’s grip was loose and he could have pulled away if he wanted to, but Jamack also seemed relaxed. Harris knew Jamack didn’t make stupid mistakes. Usually. He forced himself to draw a few deep breaths and look around. There were no Mod Frogs here. None of the other mutes—and, to his shock, the occasional human!—gave them a second glance. No one seemed to care about them here. What they looked like. What they did. “What is this place?” he murmured, trying to take it all in at once, a dizzying array of colour, light, sound, smell… His stomach rumbled. It smelled _amazing_. Sweet and salty and greasy all rolled up into some mysterious food he couldn’t even imagine. “You said they have food?” He ignored the part about ‘fun.’ That was too large a concept for him, even larger than the vast confusion in front of them.

For a time, they wandered almost aimlessly, following any particularly tantalizing smells to their sources. The food was all delicious and paid for, to Harris’ puzzlement, by the paper tickets the Rat at the front gate had traded to Jamack. There was sweet fried dough slathered in butter and dusted with sugar, there were sizzling meat chunks on sticks, small salt-covered fried sticks of potato. There were even pieces of chocolate covered in batter and deep fried. Jamack had been here a few times before, and had sampled a few of the treats, but watching Harris enjoy them was an entirely different experience and he couldn’t stop grinning.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” Harris groaned, eyeing a stand selling yet another kind of chocolate. “What are ‘rides’?” he asked, remembering the other part of what Jamack had said now that his stomach wasn’t directing him quite so much.

Jamack pointed at the biggest, most obvious ride—the ferris wheel. “Come on,” he said, taking Harris’ hand again briefly, pulling him gently towards it. He was stuffed too, but not to the point of discomfort. He’d eaten himself sick the first time he’d been here, and had since learned some restraint.

The line was short—it was getting late. A few humans filed off and Jamack sat on the bench they’d been on in one of the odd basket-like contraptions, waiting for Harris to follow.

Watching the humans suspiciously until they were out of sight, Harris finally joined Jamack and sat down. “Smells like humans,” he complained. “What’s the point of this, anyway?”

“It’s fun,” Jamack said with a shrug. “This ride is slower than most, but we get a great view of the city.” And he was a little worried about Harris’ stomach if they went on any of the particularly dizzying rides.

The ferris wheel started moving, and they were slowly turned higher and higher.

Harris’ entire body tensed as they began lifting into the air. One hand gripped the edge of the basket, and the other clamped down on Jamack’s leg. “Is this supposed to be happening?” he gritted out.

“Yes,” Jamack laughed. “Relax. The wheel moves slowly. We go all the way around. It’s perfectly safe.” He put his hand on Harris’, reassuringly.

Muttering something about humans and Rats, Harris slowly unclenched. It _was_ kind of pretty, with all the lights and music. He shifted closer to Jamack, even going so far as to rest his head on Jamack’s shoulder. There was no one here. They were alone in their own little world, suspended high above the city. He couldn’t even see into any of the other baskets, and he doubted any of the other riders could see into theirs, never mind anyone on the ground.

Jamack slid his arm around Harris’ waist. It was nice to do something together, something that wasn’t patrolling, or working, or even sex. He knew Harris, he knew him better than anyone, but he still felt like he never saw some parts of him, the parts that might come out while he was safe and relaxed and enjoying himself. Maybe those parts didn’t exist, or weren’t very different, but the fact that Harris was leaning on him right now hinted that they might be.

The wheel stopped turning as they hit the top of the wheel and the basket swung back and forth. Harris grabbed Jamack’s leg again, instantly alert.

“It’s alright,” Jamack murmured. “They stop it at the top so we can see everything.” He was pretty sure they were the only two on the ferris wheel. “It’ll move again in a minute.”

Harris nodded stiffly, still tense against Jamack’s side. The basked slowly stopped swaying, and Harris bravely risked leaning forward just a little. He could see straight down through the metal beams holding them up, all the way to the ground. He’d never been afraid of heights—at least when he climbed them himself—and it was exhilarating. “We’re so high up. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this high.” Everything seemed sturdy enough, and Harris managed to convince his frightened body that they weren’t about to plummet to their doom. He looked around, gasping softly and grabbing Jamack’s hand. “Look! You can see everything from here!” There was a soft blue glow, broken by a line of solid black, in the distance. “Is that the Pond?” he asked wonderingly.

Jamack grinned, lacing his fingers with Harris’. “Yeah, I think so.” He was looking less at the view and more at Harris. Harris looked so _happy_ , an expression Jamack didn’t often see on him, and Jamack wanted to remember it forever.

There was a whistling sound, a familiar sound, and Jamack grabbed Harris tight around the waist. He had no time to warn him, hadn’t thought to warn him earlier, so all he could do was grab him.

The sky exploded with sound and colour and the smell of gunpowder. Eyes wide, Harris’ legs bunched and coiled beneath him as the thunderous noise erupted. He could make it to the ground, to safety, if he caught himself at least once with his tongue on the way down, but there was something keeping him trapped. He struggled and wriggled, but he couldn’t move. The basket began to sway alarmingly, telling his body he was off balance, about to fall. He let out an involuntary croak.

“It’s ok, it’s alright,” Jamack promised him, once the overwhelming crackling sound had ebbed for a moment and his voice could be heard. “They’re fireworks, they’re just pretty colours in the sky. It won’t hurt us.” The basket was shaking now that Harris had started struggling and Jamack felt his own heart picking up. He was sure they could make it down safely if they fell, but he didn’t want to test that. “I promise we’re safe.”

Still gulping in frantic gasps of air and croaking occasionally, Harris slowly came back to himself. He was safe. Jamack was telling him he was safe. It was Jamack’s arms around him, keeping him in place. Keeping him safe. He huddled against Jamack’s side shamelessly as another whistle pierced the night, followed a moment later by another explosion above them. “Why?” he finally managed to ask.

There were loud hisses and cracks in the air as the colourful explosions fizzled out. Up here on the ferris wheel they had an amazing view of the fireworks, and their reflection in the river that ran through Ratland. “They’re pretty, that’s all. But they are very loud. I wasn’t thinking about them, I should have warned you.” Jamack kept his arms around Harris, but he loosened his grip now that Harris was calming down.

“Yes. You should have.” The whole thing was so…so _much_. Harris had to do something to let it out or he was going to explode, burst out of his skin and suit like one of the fireworks above them. He had to do _something_. He turned to Jamack, saw the bright, overflowing expression he was showing so plainly on his face. He wanted to reply to that expression with words or actions, because he couldn’t make his face that…complicated. He opened his mouth, but the wrong words fell out, dropping like stones and dragging him down with them. “I can’t…I can’t do this.”

Jamack’s smile turned to concern. “Do you need to get down?”

Harris nodded almost desperately. He needed to get down, right now, away from Jamack, or he was going to climb down himself. The contraption shuddered and then they were moving again. They were being carried down. Slowly, but in the right direction. He just had to keep it together for another few minutes. The delicious food he’d eaten earlier settled in his stomach like lead.

“It won’t be long,” Jamack said, reaching for his hand. The fireworks cracked overhead again.

Harris was out of the basket before it had stopped moving, while they were still some distance above the ground. He heard someone shout at him, but he was already off and running through the confusing maze of wooden booths and metal skeletons.

Jamack managed to follow him, mostly because Harris was tall and his red eyes were easy to spot even in a crowd. He had to drop to his hands and hop a few times just to keep up. Was this just panic from the fireworks? Was it more than that? ‘ _I can’t do this’_ sounded an awful lot like…like something they’d done before. Twice.

He finally caught him close to the entrance. “Harris!”

Harris whirled, reaching for a bat that wasn’t there. He let out a threatening croak before he could stop himself.

Jamack stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. His chest felt tight. Harris’ posture, his threat, was perfectly clear. Jamack had taken it too far. He’d tried to coax out that part of Harris that he’d been so excited to see, and it had blown up in his face. He took a step back, turning away enough that Harris wouldn’t feel like he was being confronted. Jamack didn’t want to hear it again.

If it was over, then just let it be over.

He couldn’t bear to hear Harris say it.

*

_Frustration_

It was three days into mating season.

Most Frogs were allowed a fair amount of freedom during this time. Young Mod Frogs were stuck with all the patrols, leaving the older Frogs with time to spend with their mates. For those without mates, there was the opportunity to take some time off and get away from the Pond.

Kwat had taken a mate during their first mating season, a Frog in the Year above her. They’d been together through the next two seasons. She was lucky to have found a compatible Frog. Unless there was a possibility of Tadpoles, having a mate was seen as frivolous. It was the kind of thing that could end a Frog’s career. A mate was a weak spot, a target, and if your mate couldn’t reproduce with you, there was no way to pretend that the relationship was for the sake of the Pond. Many Frogs had secret relationships, many continued to see their mates outside of mating season—Kwat and her mate often found time for each other outside of mating season—but it wasn’t something that could be spoken about, or done publicly. Even friendships were considered a weakness. A more intimate relationship was so much worse.

Which, she was sure, was part of why Harris and Jamack had broken up again.

It had been a couple of months since they’d become cold with each other again. Things had almost gotten back to normal, but as soon as mating season hit, they started fighting. It was just the frustration that came with mating season, she was sure, but it still drove her up the wall.

Jamack never seemed to be the one to end things between them, as far as Kwat could tell. Harris shut him down whenever he reached out when they were apart. She never got the full story—obviously, neither of them were open about their relationship—but she could always tell when they were together and when they were apart. It was obvious. The first month or so after a break-up was always full of vicious fights and cold silences. They both traded shifts with her as often as possible to get away from each other. The first month or so after they’d made up meant they would take all the patrol shifts together, both of them in great moods, and acting secretive.

She much preferred it when they were together, but it seemed like Harris couldn’t commit one way or the other.

So, after a few days with her mate, she took pity on the idiots. Her mate knew they were important to her, important enough that she understood when Kwat took some time away from the Pond.

Kwat took Harris to Brunchington. Mod Frogs pretty much always had enough significant information to be able to eat there, but there were no other Frogs there right now, which Kwat had been hoping for. They were settled at a quiet table in the corner and the Shrimp mutes brought out several plates of delicious food.

She knew that Harris would _never_ be the one to start this conversation. He was bad at conversation in general, let alone a conversation about relationships and _emotions_. It wasn’t easy for Mod Frogs—well, except maybe Jamack—to talk about that kind of association. But she was going to suck it up and try. Partly for her sake—she was sick of listening to them fight—but also for theirs.

Kwat served herself another waffle, looking over at Harris. “You and Jamack have been particularly miserable this season,” she remarked. They’d managed to be together every previous mating season since they’d first taken up together.

“It’s a miserable season,” Harris snapped, spearing a sausage on his fork and swallowing it in one defiant gulp. She’d lured him here under false pretenses, telling him they were going on patrol. He’d thought it was odd that she’d want to leave her mate, but he’d just been glad for any excuse to get away from the Pond. He hadn’t realized where they were going until it was too late. At least there was food, and lots of it. He intended to stuff himself. He barely tasted the food, just swallowed mouthful after spiteful mouthful.

“You seemed pretty happy last mating season. And the one before that. And the one before that.” Kwat smirked.

Harris gulped burning-hot coffee, his eye twitching the only sign of his discomfort. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a good actor. Shouldn’t you be back at the Pond with _your_ mate?” He glowered at her, stealing a strawberry drizzled in chocolate from her plate.

“Yes, I should.” She gave him an unimpressed look as he stole food off her plate. “And you’re a _terrible_ actor. You’re not even a good liar.” She took a moment to enjoy a bite of her food. “And when it comes to you, Jamack isn’t great at lying either. I know you two have been together, I know you both too well to be fooled by you sneaking around. I know you can’t openly be mates, but you’re both miserable apart. Some relationships are worth keeping, even if they have to be kept hidden.” Kwat was generally a very blunt Frog—when she spoke, she said what she meant, but this was blunt even for her.

Eyes enormous, Harris could only croak at her—half alarm, half threat.

“You’re both much happier when you’re together. I can always tell when you’ve made up.”

“You cannot!” Too late, Harris realized he’d raised his voice too much and drawn the attention of the other diners. He leaned forward, grabbed her sleeve, and hissed, “You _cannot_.”

Kwat narrowed her eyes, pulling her jacket out of his grip and straightening it. “I can also tell when you’ve broken up. Both of you are frantic to change shifts with me so you don’t have to spend time together. You broke up a couple of months ago. And you were just starting to adjust to being friends again when mating season hit, and now you’re both acting like idiots. Again.”

“Kwat.” Harris gritted his teeth, but even he could recognize that he’d gone too far by touching her. “We are _not_ having this conversation.” He laughed bitterly. “Besides. Shouldn’t you be talking to Jamack? He’s the ‘feelings’ Frog.”

“If I talked to Jamack, it would end in tears.” She rolled her eyes. He would only agree with her that he was miserable alone. But Jamack wasn’t the one in charge of them being together or apart. Otherwise they would be together.

“True,” Harris admitted reluctantly.

“You’re the one who keeps ending it, am I right?”

“Of course I—!” He cleared his throat. “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m honestly not sure which of you is more stupid,” she said with a sigh, briefly closing her eyes. “Harris, does Jamack make you happy?”

“No! He’s horrible!” Fuck, he was getting too loud again. He could see Cappuccino frowning at him from across the terrace, shaking her head. “No,” he repeated, more quietly.

“Quiet,” she hissed. There weren’t any other Mod Frogs here, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be overheard. “Even if you two weren’t sometimes romantically involved, Jamack is your—our—friend.” That admission in itself was heavy, but they were all more than colleagues. They helped each other without needing to trade for it, even though they did try to keep everything balanced with trades, the way they ought to. “I know you don’t hate him. If he makes you happy, you should try to be together. Even if it’s difficult, even if it has to be a secret.”

Harris sighed. “When did _you_ get this good at talking?” he laughed humorlessly, looking down at his nearly empty plate. “Alright. But it’s not that simple. I don’t want to… I don’t want to drag him down with me.” It was part of the reason, certainly, but he couldn’t just come out and admit it was mostly because he was afraid.

Kwat smirked. “I’ve spent too much time with Jamack to not learn how to get you to talk.” She put a few more chocolate strawberries on his plate. “I know Jamack has…aspirations. But he’s always in a better mood when he’s with you.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “That might be more important to him. _You_ might be more important to him.”

“Kwat,” Harris laughed nervously, “don’t say shit like that!” But she was clearly serious. The chocolate strawberries said as much. He selected the largest and popped it in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to talk for a moment while he ostensibly chewed—though of course he could have swallowed it, along with two or three others, whole. Could that be possible? Could _he_ be more important to Jamack than moving up through the ranks?

He shook his head, gulping down the strawberry. “No. That just makes it even more important that I…” He waved a hand vaguely, still not looking at Kwat.

“I know you want to protect him.” She sighed. “But you know Jamack better than anyone. Do you think he’ll be happy all his life without a mate?”

“…Yes,” Harris grumbled immediately, without conviction. He plucked up another strawberry and ate it, closing his eyes both to savour the chocolate and to avoid Kwat.

“Would you be hurt if he took another mate?” she pressed.

“N-no,” Harris gritted out, accidentally squashing another strawberry in his hand.

“You’re such a terrible liar.” She sighed again, pausing to eat the last remaining pieces of her waffle. “I won’t argue with you anymore. I just want you to think about it.”

“Why do all this?” Harris asked softly, indulging himself and licking bits of strawberry off his hand.

“I like it better when you get along. It makes my life much easier,” she admitted. “But I also want you two to be happy.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m sure the first part is true.” He sighed, picking up his fork and chasing some chocolate on his plate. “What should I do?” He knew he shouldn’t have asked—it was far too open, made him far too vulnerable, but…she was right. He was miserable, and he was fairly certain Jamack was too. And clearly they were making Kwat miserable, or at least annoying her. They couldn’t continue the way they were, especially now that it was mating season. Harris felt like he’d explode any second, and he was terrifyingly unsure how his frustration would manifest.

“I’m not going to give you _that_ kind of advice. I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you take a patrol together.”

“Kwat!” Harris stared at her in horror. “That’s not what I—what should I _say_?” he clarified.

“Do you usually _talk_ about things when you get back together?” She laughed. That didn’t sound right.

“I…” Harris blinked. “No, I guess we don’t,” he admitted. “Can we please go back to the Pond now?” He laughed. He hadn’t even spoken to Jamack and already he felt better. “Not because of _that_. I just don’t want to have this conversation anymore.”

“Good. Neither do I.” She grinned at him, finishing up her plate.

They both paid their bills and got back in the car. Kwat was silent during the drive back—couldn’t she have just done this while they were driving and not surrounded by other mutes?—but Harris didn’t mind. It was something of a relief.

*

Jamack’s mating-season frustration was so much worse around Harris, and he was cursing himself for agreeing to take a patrol with him. He’d thought maybe getting away from the Pond and the happy couples would be worth it, but being alone with Harris was…awful.

Harris’ heart was pounding and he could barely seem to fill his lungs. He wanted to confess everything to Jamack. He wanted to run and run and never stop. He wanted to touch Jamack. Well. Perhaps he could do the last part. He let his hand drift down between them, just brushing the perfectly crisp seam of Jamack’s pants.

Jamack jumped, surprised by the gentle touch. He was so terribly aware of his body. His skin felt tight and hot. “What?!” he asked, looking around quickly. But Harris was just looking at him, not warning him about something he’d seen. “What?” he asked, more quietly.

“N-nothing.” Harris quickly looked away. He realized, too late, that he hadn’t pulled his hand back. It was still there. Still touching Jamack, or at least his suit. Well, it was very nearly the same thing. Oh, fuck, it was almost the same thing, what was he thinking?

Jamack slowly put his hand on top of Harris’. That little touch, that skin on skin, sent a shiver through his whole body. It hyper-focused him on where their hands met. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to break this moment, terrified to find out which way they might tip.

Slowly, as though he might frighten Jamack off, Harris turned his hand within Jamack’s until they were palm to palm and he could curl his fingers around Jamack’s. How did this feel like their very first time again?

Jamack looked up from their entwined hands to Harris’ eyes. He felt almost frightened.

Harris froze.

Jamack let his other hand go to Harris’ tie, pulling it loose.

Harris nodded slightly, then tipped his head back to offer Jamack the knot of his tie—and his throat. He felt like he might burst out of his suit, his skin, at any moment, and he’d never wanted anything more. It was terrifying.

Jamack squeezed gently at his throat, then stopped, pulling back. He pulled himself over the front seat and into the back, offering Harris a hand to draw him back with him. There was at least a little more room back there. The dragonfly continued to pull the car along their usual patrol path, not needing any cues to follow that route.

Harris hesitated just a moment—not because he didn’t want this, but because they were just out in the open. And maybe a little because he wanted this _too_ much. He took Jamack’s broad, strong hand and eagerly hopped back to join him. Then he stopped, unsure what to do.

Leaning back against the window with Harris between his spread thighs, Jamack slid his hands up Harris’ thin chest. He started unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. He hated unbuttoning Harris’ buttons—they were so much smaller than his own and he always fumbled with them. The eagerness wasn’t helping with his precision either.

Growling softly with impatience, Harris batted Jamack’s hands away and undid his own buttons, laying his chest bare.

Jamack pulled off his own jacket and got his shirt open, but once Harris’ white underbelly was exposed he couldn’t resist touching him. He slid an arm around Harris’ waist, pulling him up against himself. He pressed his lips to Harris’ shoulder, pushing his shirt down his arm to expose more skin. Jamack rolled his hips up against Harris’. It had taken so little for his erection to slide out of his cloaca.

Harris shivered, arching his neck to offer up more of his skin to Jamack’s questing mouth. “We-we should get out of our pants,” he gasped, surprised he could speak at all, never mind give advice.

Jamack nodded, reluctantly releasing Harris so they could finish undressing. He tossed their clothes into the front seat to keep them clean. There was half a second of awkwardness between them now that they were apart, before Jamack slid his hand up Harris’ side. He was glad to see Harris was just as erect as he was, just as eager. Though there was some fear in the back of his mind, that this was only a one-time thing, that this was only during mating season…it wouldn’t stop him. Even if it was just this once, he couldn’t turn it down.

Bare now, Harris slid his body against Jamack’s, letting his hungry skin soak in the sensation of Jamack’s thicker hide again. He moaned fervently, driving his hips against Jamack again and again, rutting with blind enthusiasm. He’d felt so _tight_ since the beginning of mating season—longer, if he was being honest—and now he felt like he was coming undone all at once, unravelling. He knew he _should_ want to stop it, but he didn’t. He wanted this more than anything, and maybe it was just the extra surge of passion that mating season wrought, but he wasn’t going to fight it. He’d let this wave carry him where it wanted, and he’d deal with the consequences when he came crashing down later.

Jamack grinned, unable to conceal his own eagerness. Harris was so acting so desperate just for a simple touch and Jamack loved it. For awhile they just wrapped their arms around each other, grinding together. Jamack angled his hips to let Harris’ erection slide against his. They were both slick already, their bodies gliding together easily. Jamack pushed Harris off himself and up against the window, spreading his legs. Harris’ erection was the same beautiful bright blue that striped his skin, and as Jamack slid a finger into his cloaca, he could just see a hint of orange inside. His fingers were practically drawn inwards with Harris’ tightening inner muscles and he groaned.

At first Harris whined a protest, but when he realized what Jamack was doing, what he wanted, he spread his legs wider and leaned forward, offering himself up.

Jamack pulled out his finger briefly, adding a second alongside it and pressing them both back in. With his other hand, Jamack ran his fingers over the entrance to his own cloaca, teasing himself, but also gathering some of that slickness to lubricate his hand. He wrapped that hand around Harris’ erection, his grip tight and slippery.

Harris cried out, arching and bucking, throwing himself back against Jamack’s clever hands. “You’ve gotten better,” he teased, laughing and impressed he could speak at all.

“You’re just more excited,” Jamack admitted. He really couldn’t take credit for the way Harris’ body was swallowing his fingers, even if he would _love_ to. He worked his fingers in and out, slowly adding more as Harris opened up for him.

“I—ah!—don’t think that’s true!” Harris rested his head against the window, that and Jamack’s hands the only things keeping him up. “But whatever it is, I’ll take it,” he gasped, closing his eyes with rapture. “Fuck, fuck, Jamack, I’m so close,” he whined, almost coming out as a sob. He didn’t want to be finished so quickly, but Jamack was just taking him apart, driving him to his finish, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for long.

“Do you want me to slow down?” he offered. He stopped thrusting and began to curl his fingers inside Harris, stroking the inner walls of his cloaca.

“No!” Harris practically shouted, clenching down hard on Jamack’s fingers so he couldn’t get away. “No,” he purred, relaxing again as Jamack continued expertly delving him. His relaxation didn’t last long. His whole body tightened and jerked, and then he was cumming in Jamack’s hand while Jamack’s fingers filled him, stretched him to his limit.

Jamack groaned as he felt Harris’ body pull him deeper, until his knuckles met the opening of his cloaca. “Fuck,” he said, slowly drawing his fingers out. He sat up, resting his weight on his knees, still straddling Harris. His skin felt electric, almost warm. He could feel his own slick dripping down the inside of his thighs. He put his fingers over the entrance to his cloaca and he could feel it throbbing with his pulse. It was so easy to let his fingertips slide in. His erection twitched up against his stomach.

Harris watched him for a moment, eyes unfocused, mouth relaxed as he slowly came back to himself. When he could move again, he propped himself up on one elbow, frowning and shaking his head. “No, this isn’t right,” he mumbled.

Jamack froze. His face fell. Fuck, this _had_ been too good to be true. Harris just wanted to get off because it was mating season! Fuck, how could he let himself be pulled into this again? He wanted to be angry at Harris for doing this before Jamack had even gotten off, but he couldn’t muster it. “What?” His voice was soft.

“You got me off,” Harris chuckled, “the least I can do is return the favour.”

“Oh.” The relief felt almost physical. He was so stunned by the quick emotional turn that he didn’t move, not sure what reaction Harris wanted.

“Well, lie down!” Harris laughed at Jamack’s funny expression. “Let me take care of you,” he added, more tenderly, then he quickly shifted to a smirk. “Can’t owe you anything, after all,” he reminded them both.

Jamack leaned back against the other window, spreading his legs for Harris, holding out a hand to invite him in close to lean against his thigh. “Of course not.”

Harris nodded smartly. He hesitated a moment, just admiring the sight of Jamack all laid out, spread, and eager for him. And because he felt like he was approaching a threshold—a precipice—that once he crossed he’d never be able to turn back.

He leaned forward and lightly touched the oh-so-soft skin just beside Jamack’s cloaca. It was paler there, though not as pale as Harris’ own underbelly, and still green rather than white.

Jamack’s breath hitched. He was tempted to tilt his hips to bring Harris’ fingers closer, but he let the other Frog take his time. They hadn’t touched each other in awhile, after all.

Slowly getting bolder, Harris’ fingers circled closer and closer to the slick opening. He pressed lightly in different places, relishing the moans and gasps he could draw out of Jamack with each motion.

“Please, Harris, please…” Jamack moaned. It wasn’t a word Mod Frogs used often, but he was so sensitive and Harris started was only intensifying, buzzing through his skin and muffling his thoughts. He knew Harris was just enjoying how responsive he was, but he couldn’t seem to control the sounds he made, the way his body seemed to beg for Harris.

Swallowing hard, Harris dipped just the tip of one finger past the encircling skin of Jamack’s cloaca. He let out a soft hum of wonder—however soft and slick he thought Jamack had been before was nothing compared to how he felt inside! He seemed to be drawing Harris’ finger deeper, but Harris didn’t want to rush and risk hurting him. He kept his finger shallow, waiting for Jamack’s response.

His head tilted back, rocking his hips up to try and coax Harris’ fingers in deeper. “Please,” he groaned. Harris had never penetrated him, really, only just teased the entrance to his cloaca while focusing on his erection. His legs spread wider, shaking a little with pleasure.

“More?” Harris asked, just to be completely sure.

“Yes, yes,” he moaned. He gathered his senses enough to assure Harris, “I’ve tried this before, I can take more.”

Nodding, Harris slid his finger incrementally deeper. He stopped when Jamack cried out and tightened around him.

“Harris, fuck, don’t _stop_!”

“I-I’m not, I’m not!” Harris protested. He pushed a little deeper, sliding his finger in a slow circle to feel just how smooth and wet Jamack was inside. He closed his eyes and gave a little shiver of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck.” Jamack relaxed into it. One of his hands was braced on the back of the front seat, the other gripped the leather of the back seat. “Fuck, Harris, you feel so good!” The overwhelming frustration and _need_ that he’d been stifling through mating season were quickly melting into rapture.

Grinning, Harris slid in a second finger alongside the first. He regretted it for a moment, worried he’d hurt Jamack and Jamack would make him stop, but he was rewarded by Jamack bucking beneath him, nearly howling with pleasure. “Good?” he teased.

“Yes, oh…!” Jamack took his erection in one hand, stroking himself, too worked up to just allow Harris to explore at his own pace.

“Mm, you really _do_ like that,” Harris observed, grinning harder. He slid both fingers as deep as they would go and curled them, tracing a small shape around Jamack’s insides.

Jamack cried out, fingers digging into the leather of the front seat. Slick pre-ejaculate spilled from his cloaca and the tip of his erection. “Harris—!” he gasped, stroking himself almost frantically.

Hoping he was interpreting Jamack correctly, Harris swiftly slid in a third finger.

Jamack hit a new peak of pleasure as Harris’ fingers stretched him just a little wider, his body shuddering as he came across his chest, a few drops even landing on his face. “Oh…” he breathed, panting hard.

Harris stilled again for a moment, frowning with concern, until Jamack’s cloaca began rhythmically pulsing around his fingers as he started cumming. He grinned down at Jamack, very pleased with himself, and thrust slightly with his fingers to help Jamack along, the same way Jamack had done to him.

Just that slight movement sent Jamack back up into ecstasy. He tensed, cloaca squeezing around Harris’ fingers, then melted against the car door with a breathless moan.

It was wonderful seeing Jamack like this, especially because he didn’t seem to be able to speak. Harris was beaming as he gave Jamack a few more strokes from the inside, wanting to milk every drop of this moment out of him.

For awhile all Jamack could do was tremble, making soft, breathless whimpers. After a minute or so, he protested, “Mercy, Harris, fuck, I’m too sensitive now.”

Feeling gracious now that they’d finished so spectacularly, Harris nodded and stilled his hand. He waited to feel Jamack relax around him before pulling his fingers free. He laughed to see how slick they were, sliding them together to feel the slightly sticky substance coating them. He grinned down at Jamack, then laughed outright. “It’s all over your face, you perverse thing. Horny toad.”

Jamack gave him a playful scowl. He couldn’t help laughing though, wiping a few drops of cum off his face. “Like you’re any better.” His voice was still breathy. He sat up slightly and groaned. There was a small puddle under him. “Ah, fuck.” They’d have to clean the car carefully, and make sure it didn’t smell like sex.

“I am,” Harris assured him. After a moment’s hesitation, he curled up against Jamack, sitting between his legs and lying back against his chest.

Jamack wrapped an arm around him, letting his fingers play over Harris’ skin. He was surprised to find Harris initiating the after-sex snuggling, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“That was…good?” Harris asked, suddenly feeling the need to break the silence. Funny—that was usually Jamack’s job, but he’d been quiet for several minutes. He loved Jamack’s fingers dancing lightly across his skin, feeling Jamack’s chest rise and fall behind him with each breath he pumped in. He allowed his eyes to close. They’d have to move on soon, he knew that, but he wanted to enjoy _this_ moment while it lasted.

“It was amazing,” Jamack agreed. He felt almost shy after Harris had gotten such powerful reactions out of him, and with so little effort! His skin was still humming. His erection had receded, but his cloaca was still so sensitive. He almost ached, even though Harris had been so gentle.

He had a powerful urge to kiss Harris. He stuffed it down ruthlessly. That was not going to happen.


End file.
